Voices
by michelle1203
Summary: How did Coach know what to do when Meredith appeared in his class that day? Several years ago, his eight-year-old daughter started hearing voices and screams. Takes place before Teen Wolf.
1. Voices

**Disclaimer: I only own Grace.**

This has been in my head for a while. I've seen theories out there about Coach's reaction of Meredith Walker, and I've wanted to play with the idea that Coach knew how to handle Meredith because he had a daughter who was a banshee. I tried to keep coach in character. This work is just so I could get it out of my head, but I hope you enjoy.

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Bobby Finstock put down his grading pen and ran his hands through his hair. He'd assigned an essay on supply and demand for his second and seventh period classes. Now that he finished grading them, he realized that the essay was a terrible idea. One, because it was the beginning of the fall semester. Two, because the essays turned in by the sophomores were God awful to say the least. The grammar and spelling errors made him wonder how some of these kids managed to make it out of elementary school and junior high. Hell, his eight-year-old had a better concept of the English language than they did. Speaking of which, it was time for someone to go to bed.

"Grace!" Bobby called. "Daddy's finished grading papers. Bedtime, kiddo!"

As of now, he had full custody of Grace. Her mother was flighty and would come and go into his life. The moment he found out she was pregnant, they got married at the local courthouse, moved in together, and she stayed around. He was really happy for the first time in years. The moment Grace was born however, her mother would disappear for days at a time again. Occasionally, she would take care of Grace, but mostly he would have to have his mother take care of her while he was working at Beacon Hills High. After being what felt like a single dad to Grace for a year, Bobby decided to file for a divorce and for full custody of his kid. He came home one night after dropping Grace off at his mother's house to find that his ex-wife had signed the divorce papers and took everything. Everything meaning the couches, tables, rugs, even the shower curtains. The only thing she left untouched was Grace's room, bathroom, and belongings. He was thankful that they didn't have a joint checking account, or he was certain she would have cleaned him out. Because she didn't appear to the custody hearing, Robert Finstock was granted full custody of Grace Marilyn Finstock.

"Grace?" Bobby placed the graded papers in his bag and looked at the clock. 8:30. "Grace, sweetie?"

Grace usually answered, or would skip into the living room while he was grading, her wide hazel eyes peering across from him at the table, her long brown hair a mess around her round face from playing outside or building blanket forts in her room. She'd make popping noises with her mouth as he'd remind himself to brush and braid her hair later.

"Whatcha grading?" She'd ask. "What's that word mean? How much is a thousand million?"

He'd look at her, explain what he could, then watch as she'd run down the hall and laugh. But now that he thought about it, he hadn't seen her since dinner. She said she didn't have homework tonight, so he sent her off to her room to read or play Barbies, whatever it was that was cool. She seemed a little tired or distracted earlier, but he'd had a long day and he didn't really think about her behavior until now.

"Grace..."

Bobby headed out of the living room and down the hall to his daughter's room. He peered inside. Her desk lamp was on and there were toys on the floor, but she wasn't visible. He immediately went to her closet, tripping over a white Build-A-Bear take home box on the way.

"Goddamn stupid box," he kicked it out of the way and made it to the closet door.

Sometimes she would hide inside with a flashlight and read scary stories. But when he looked inside, there was no flashlight, no 'close the door, daddy!', no ear-piercing scream signaling that he'd startled her at the scariest part. He walked across the room and checked under her bed, but still no sign of Grace. He swore to himself as he got to his feet.

"Grace, this isn't funny! Daddy's gonna be very mad if you don't come out right now, young lady."

He walked further down the hall to her bathroom, his stomach tying into knots with each step. He flipped on the light and found a mass of thick brown hair sitting in the bathtub. He breathed a sigh of relief that there wasn't any water in the tub with her. Grace was fully clothed and had her knees pulled tightly into her chest. Something was wrong. Grace was quiet, a trait that she never had from the moment she came shrieking out of her mother. He always chalked Grace's behavior up to her having more of his genes than his ex's. She was talkative, loud, yelled whenever she was angry, screamed when she was scared, snored when she slept, and shared his love for blowing a whistle when people were talking. If she didn't play lacrosse, she'd make a good coach. He remembered times when both of them were angry and they would have I'm-louder-than-you yelling matches, screaming 'fine' at each other and slamming things. He dreaded the day she became a teenager. The point was that Grace was never quiet, if anything she just got louder, and the fact that she was silent right now scared him.

Bobby crouched beside the tub, "There you are sweetie. You nearly gave me a heart attack."

Grace didn't speak, only shivered a few times. He carefully reached for her chin and raised it so he could get a good look at her face. Her wide hazels were vacant as she stared back at him. He touched her forehead and cheeks, feeling that her skin, while sticky from a mixture of sweat and tears, was absent of a fever.

"Daddy, make it stop." Grace whispered.

Bobby's chest grew tight. He swallowed, "Make what stop?"

"The voices."

His breath caught in his chest. His daughter was hearing voices. He knew Beacon Hills was a place with a lot of unexplainable things, but none of those things had ever happened to him. Now that his child was hearing voices, he wasn't sure what he needed to do next, but something told him that taking her to the crazy house just wasn't an option. He knew he needed to ask his questions carefully, because if his boisterous kid was made silent by these voices, then they had to be something serious.

"Grace," he tossed a lock of hair over her shoulder, "sweetie, what kind of...voices are you hearing?"

She blinked for the first time since he'd found her, "Loud ones."

"Okay. So you're hearing loud voices?"

Grace nodded.

"Are they mean voices? Or are they nice?"

"Both."

_'The hell does that mean?'_ Bobby thought, but instead said, "They can be mean and nice, huh? Do you hear them now?"

"They stopped when I came in here."

"What did they say?"

"They were in my room and they said something bad was going to happen. It came from the radio."

"Was the radio on?"

"No."

"Alright. So when do you hear these voices?"

"On the bus," said Grace.

"Okay, so you're not gonna ride the bus anymore that's for damn sure," muttered Bobby. "Gracie, angel, do you hear these voices at school, or here with Daddy?"

"Not with you, but sometimes in the backyard by the fence. Sometimes school on the playground and in the bathroom."

Bobby stopped. That would explain that day she came home in tears and out of breath with wet pants. She said that some kid had tickled her and made her laugh on the bus until she peed and that she ran home because she was embarrassed. Had she actually have been so scared to use the bathroom at school because of these voices, that she'd held it all day, and then ran home from the bus stop and had an accident because she couldn't make it? He suddenly felt horrible for not knowing that his own kid was dealing with something this scary.

"Ah, jeez," Bobby ran his hand over his face. "And, uh, how long have you been hearing these voices?"

Grace shrugged.

"Did you always hear them?"

She shook her head.

"Okay, so did you hear them a year ago?"

Another head shake.

"Did you hear them at Easter?" Bobby asked, attempting to use holidays as a marker for months. If she said yes, then the voices started about five months ago.

"No, but I remember hearing screaming when we went to Disneyland."

Bobby was taken aback. Their day at Disneyland was in July, she seemed to have a good time. Definitely wouldn't shut up on their drive home about riding the teacups with Alice and the Mad Hatter and the fireworks that night. How was he supposed to know she was hearing things?

Bobby shook his head, "Sweetheart, I'm sure the screams were coming from one of the rides."

Grace shook her head fiercely, "I heard them when we went to Downtown Disney and got pretzels. They were close screams. Not the far away ones from the roller coasters. They sounded like someone was gonna die."

"Jesus Christ, kid."

"They went away and came back later."

Bobby cupped her cheeks in his hands, "Grace, why didn't you tell me these things were happening to you?"

Grace shrugged. He searched her eyes and only found fear. For a moment, he felt like he was looking in a mirror.

"Did you think I'd be mad?"

"Yeah..."

Bobby sighed and kissed her forehead. "You need to tell me these things, Grace. I won't get mad. You're not making these voices up, so why would I be mad? I...I don't know how to make them stop, but I can try to help you if I know what's going on, okay?"

"Okay." Grace nodded. "Daddy, do you still love me?"

Bobby immediately wrapped his arms around his daughter. He took a deep breath. It made him sad to think that she thought he wouldn't love her anymore just because of these voices.

"I know I yell sometimes," he began, "and I get mad, but Grace, I'm not going to send you away. I'm definitely not going stop loving you. I will _never_ love you any less for any reason. Even if you do hear some really scary things, okay?"

Grace smiled, "Okay."

"Good. Now, it's late for you, so let's get you showered and ready for bed. Are the voices still coming from your room?" When Grace hesitated, Bobby held out his hand. "C'mon, you can sleep in my room tonight."

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Hope you enjoyed it and thank you for reading!


	2. Just Like Lacrosse

**Disclaimer: I only own Grace**

After lots of thought, I've decided that whenever it has to do with Banshee!Grace, I'm going to add it to the main fic "Voices". Whenever it deals with Bobby raising Grace, I'm going to post a separate fic in the series. I know it might not make much sense on here, but on AO3 there's a way you can link works as a series.

Also, note for this chapter: Only the goalie wears a helmet and padding in girls/women's lacrosse and the 'cage' is another name for the goal.

Anyway, enjoy!

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"Grace, dinner's...ready."

When her dad stopped by her room, Grace was on her bed, sitting with her attention to the stereo. Lacrosse practice ended an hour ago, yet Grace remained in her lacrosse helmet, gloves, and uniform. Her hazels were locked on the tape player across from her. While the tape wasn't playing, she could distinctly hear the voices talking to her, saying terrible things, and warning her that something bad was going to happen. But Grace didn't scream. Instead, she sat still with wide eyes, taking in the sounds.

Bobby walked over to his daughter. "Honey, it's time for dinner."

She didn't blink. She looked caught in a trance. Her father sighed. Now that Grace was thirteen, the voices she heard were getting worse. Most days she acted like a normal teenager. Other days she would sit still for a few hours, focusing all of her attention on random objects, stating that she heard something. Bobby sat beside Grace. Without a word, he unhooked her chinstrap and carefully removed her helmet. Her brown hair, which was pulled into a low ponytail, was half frizzy from the humidity and half sweaty. He noticed a slight flush on her rounded cheeks and dried blood on her lower lip. Grace had a habit of biting her lip while in the cage, and if she fell or tried to block a difficult shot, sometimes she'd break the skin. Her eyes were puffy.

"Honey," Bobby put a hand on her shoulder and felt Grace jump at his touch. "It's okay, Grace. It's just me."

She furrowed her brow, her eyes still focused in front of her. "Dad..."

Lately, when he found her in the middle of hearing voices, her face reflected confusion. It was as if she couldn't decide whether his voice was real or in her head.

Bobby took her hand, "Sweetheart, what do you hear?"

"His name's Jake," said Grace. "He cried...in the woods by school."

Bobby's mouth went dry. A young man went missing two days before. He had yet to be found. During his own lacrosse practice that afternoon, he learned that the young man was the older brother of his team captain.

"I heard them scream that someone was gonna die. He said goodbye to his parents. He hurt—he hurt himself."

Grace closed her eyes and let out a scream. A scream that was stuck in her throat since lacrosse practice. Bobby brought his hands to his ears. Grace's face contorted in pain. He watched her eyes tear up just before she stopped. His heart pounded. What the hell was that? Grace broke her gaze and focused on her father. She was out of breath. She felt like she was going to be sick. Most of all, she was terrified. His daughter collapsed into sobs. Bobby wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head.

"I'm sorry! I held it as long as I could. I heard him today." Grace sniffed, "He whispered—they whispered...at the beginning of eighth period, and at practice. I tried not to scream. Daddy, I tried. I bit my lip and tried to focus on class and the ball. The voices were clearer on the field. I tried not to cry during practice but I couldn't help it. Daddy, I'm sorry..."

Bobby shushed Grace and rubbed her shoulder, "Sweetheart, no. Don't be sorry. You're dealing with some really freaky stuff—"

"I heard the gun go off."

His stomach twisted. He shook his head, "Did you hear it during practice?"

She nodded.

"The whole team heard it though, right? Someone was hunting in the woods and you heard a-a-a buckshot or something."

"No. Just me."

Now he felt like he was going to be sick.

Grace wriggled out of his embrace, "How do I make it stop?"

The lacrosse coach had given the solution to his daughter's voices plenty of thought on a number of occasions. But each time he researched anomalies of children hearing voices, he found articles about parents who put their children in therapy, some gave them medication, and even some who claimed their child was doing it for extra attention. None of the parents had children who heard voices the way Grace heard them. Bobby knew in his gut that medication and therapy wouldn't help this situation, and he knew Grace wasn't making these voices up for attention. She had all of his love and attention. Besides, she was too upset when she heard them for them to be imaginary. He knew her voices were real and like an agonizing intuition, and he certainly was going to treat it that way. But how could he make the voices stop?

Bobby looked around her room, searching for something, anything that would help. And then he saw it. Her lacrosse helmet. He smiled. The answer had been sitting under his nose the entire time. Bobby cupped her cheeks in his hands. He could see the defeat in her eyes. He silently hoped that his idea would work. Both he and Grace needed this to work.

"How do you play lacrosse, Grace?" asked Bobby.

Grace sniffed, "Dad, you're a lacrosse coach. Why are you asking me how to play?"

"Because controlling the voices in your head is like playing lacrosse."

"Dad…"

"No, I'm serious, Grace." Bobby urged. "It's like—It's like lacrosse. It's just like lacrosse. You're constantly playing a game in your head."

Grace gave it some thought. After a minute, she wiped her eyes with her hand. "If it's a game, then why can't I win? You've seen me on the field, dad."

He had seen her, and he was damn proud of her. Grace's save streak as goalie on her junior high team made her almost a higher caliber goalie than some of his seniors. Bobby couldn't wait until she was in high school. He planned to keep her in the cage on his team so the Cyclones could annihilate the competition. Any accusations of nepotism would be damned as soon as they saw how well she could bait the shooter. Even at five foot zero, with girls towering above her and shooting around her, Grace managed to block the yellow ball nine times out of ten. She was a beast in the goal.

"Why can't I block them?" she pressed.

He ran his hands through his hair. "Because their Midfielders are strong, they're running all over your field and their Attackers score constantly. I-I-I don't know! The point is they're beating you real bad, kiddo. Illegal moves and all, there's no ref to stop 'em, and you're not playing in the cage."

Grace made a face, and he wasn't sure if what he'd said made sense to her. Hell, he wasn't even sure if what he said made sense to him.

"You having control of your mind is like you having control of the goal. Sweetheart, you don't have control of the voices, so you don't have control of your goal. Somehow you need to get back in your goal, and block things the way you block them outside of your mind on the field."

Grace didn't reply. Her attention had moved to a spot on the wall. She frowned. Grace immediately reached for her father's hand and he took it.

"Are the voices back? Are they still there?" he asked.

She squeezed his hand, "How-How do I get my spot—"

"Kick 'em out, Gracie." Bobby rubbed her back. "See the field, or imagine one. Any voice you hear that isn't mine is a player. You tell them it's on Coach's orders, if you have to. You're goalie now."

Grace closed her eyes. She saw a lacrosse field illuminated by harsh white lights. She heard at least five different voices whispering to her. She tried to pick apart the voices and place them into faceless players. Instead, she saw lacrosse balls of all colors flying into the unblocked goal. She ran to the goal and a faceless player appeared. Grace mentally screamed that Coach wanted her as goalie and the voiceless figure ran. Yellow, white, black, red, orange, and green balls pelted her. Each ball sounded like one of the voices she heard. Her gear appeared on the ground in front of her. She immediately put on her helmet and grabbed a stick. Grace opened her eyes.

"Are you in your goal?" Bobby smiled.

Grace nodded.

"That's my girl!" He kissed her temple. "Do you still hear the voices?"

"I can't get rid of them," her voice shook. "I can't block out the voices. They're clearer now."

"It's okay if you can't get rid of them all the time. Grace, you need to find a way to control when you hear them so it doesn't consume you. Your cage is your way to control them."

Grace took a deep breath, "Control."

"When you said you needed to scream, do you feel it with all the voices or some?"

"Some."

"Do you feel it at the same time as when the voice shows up, or are they separate?"

She thought for a moment, and then answered, "After the voices, but it depends on what they say. If they're mean, or say someone's going to die, I need to scream."

"Then only let the voices enter your goal if they're mean," said Bobby. "When you don't want to hear the others, don't let them score"

"You make it sound easy."

"It doesn't hurt to try it."

Grace shut her eyes and returned to the field. Balls soared towards the goal. She began to block them and felt most of the voices die off. She smiled. It was working. However, there was one voice that remained constant, and soon multiple yellow balls with the same voice headed towards the net. Grace stopped blocking. She was meant to hear that voice. Jake's voice. He grew louder and high-pitched screams echoed in her head. Grace opened her eyes and screamed. Bobby clasped his hands over his ears again, this time hoping that she had gained at least a bit more control over what she could hear. As she stopped screaming, Grace looked around her room and found that things in her head were quiet again. Well, quiet aside from her usual thoughts, and those weren't nearly as noisy as the voices.

She faced her dad. "It worked."

"Do you hear any other voices?" Bobby asked.

"No, they're gone. They stopped. But what if I can't do that every time?" Grace panicked. "What if I can't get back in my goal?"

"Sweetheart..."

"What if that only worked this time?"

Bobby rubbed the back of his neck. He hated seeing Grace this unglued, especially when he didn't know what to do about it. "Maybe, I don't know...maybe it might not work every time." He sighed, "Look, honey, I don't think you're meant to fully control or stop the voices all the time. These voices...honey, I think you're supposed to hear them, but I don't know why."

"I think so, too."

"We just have to find a way to help you live with them. And maybe, maybe, that mental goal thing is your way."

Grace threw her arms around her dad and buried her face in his chest. "I really hope you're right."

"Me too, kiddo." Bobby rubbed her back. "Me too."

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Please review! Not quite TW spoilers **Headcanon**: Coach started his journey to sobriety the minute he found out Ann was pregnant.

I hope everything made sense!


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